


Feel So Close

by arcadevia



Series: Arcade’s Instagram Fics [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dancing, Domestic Fluff, Dorks in Love, Drinking, Engagement, Established Relationship, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, M/M, Partying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:01:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27378385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcadevia/pseuds/arcadevia
Summary: But Keith understands now, how just a simple dance casts a rose colored tint on the world and makes the rough edges of words melt into smoothed out butter. How he’ll keep being an idiot if it means this embrace lasts a little longer, and Lance can cradle them like a rocking boat among quiet currents. How the thumping of heavy speakers, or a clear tune from a phone, or humble scratches from a radio can be so quick to make an unlikely pair, well,likely,if it means“May I have this dance?”soon follows— or anything of the sort.Or: The one where Keith lives in domestic bliss with his fiancé, thanks to his curious effort at understanding Lance’s love language: dance.[Complete fic here, not a preview]
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Series: Arcade’s Instagram Fics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2065515
Kudos: 80





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter One (alternatively, parts 1-2 on ig). Chapter two is the rest of the work <3

Keith knows that through stereotypes, there are several ways to a man’s heart, including food, dogs, cars, and other things of the sort. The kind that satisfy a need for luxury and content, that speak in the love language of gifts that just keep on giving.

Contrary to popular belief, his fiancé is not quite like that.

Lance —although he loves his usual order at the homey restaurant their dates have taken to, and staring at nicely polished cars cruising downtown, and getting his basketball shorts dusted up at the dog park with Kosmo— has inherited his means of connection through _dance_.

Keith used to be nervous about that sudden discovery a few years ago: just an eighteen year-old, fresh out of high school with a knack for his boyfriend’s spontaneity and the kisses that come with it, finding out that a certain gleam shines in Lance’s eyes only when Keith’s shaky hand is in his and their bodies are swaying to a melody from a nearby radio.

 _“I’m not really a good dancer,”_ he was about to choke out, but the phrase went out in his chest with a puff when he’d glanced up and found Lance wearing the smile of someone in love beyond their belief. Keith wasn’t very familiar before with how that smile _looked_ , but he knew the feeling, and it washed back over all the same when he saw it staring right back at him.

Keith continued to walk (more like dance) his way through learning this new stretch of uncovered affection ready to be unlocked and smothered with opportunity. He wanted to peel away every layer Lance had until one piece of understanding bled into the next, and next thing he’d know, the lyrics to their rocking songs are tumbling from his mouth without even a beat missed.

On one occasion, he found himself stepping into another slice of that intimate territory during a Halloween party last year… 

“Mmm, dontcha want something better to snack on, Dracula?” Lance says through a sultry murmur right against the shell of Keith’s ear, all the while his arms wrap themselves around his middle with bangle bracelets clinking along the way across the button’s of Keith’s waistcoat. “My neck is right here, you know…”

Keith smirks as he takes another bite of a sour worm and sips his drink. He sets the solo cup on the counter in front of him before turning around in Lance’s hold and pressing his mouth to the boy’s neck for a suggestive kiss. And then, against Lance’s ear this time, “You can wait til we get home.”

“Hmph.” Lance pouts, the blues in his eyes looking a shade darker when they’re turned away from the kitchen’s bright light, but the makeup around them is just apparent enough to make the color peer through and render Keith starstruck. 

He makes for a good looking pirate, honestly. His toned chest is practically framed between the drooping curtains of his low cut shirt, body adorned in layers and layers of cheap jewelry —from plastic pearls to chunky, half priced rings on nearly every finger—, puffed long sleeves drawn tight at their wrists and a strip of fabric tied around his tapered waist and— christ is it a lot to process even _now_ , a couple hours after initially seeing the costume.

“You’re no fun,” Lance continues. “Don’t tell me you’ve found a victim more handsome than I…”

“Heaven forbid,” Keith laughs before he gives his boyfriend a proper, sweet kiss to his lips. They taste fruity, both from the drinks Lance has had and the chapstick he religiously applies, because every kiss should glide as smooth as butter, apparently. Not that Keith is complaining.

“But I don’t think I could, even if I tried,” he says.

Lance preens under the attention, from the words to the hands that card past the strip of fabric tied around his forehead, through his hair and leaving stubborn little spikes in their wake. “Mmmyes compel me, Count Kogane,” he says with eyes that stare under half-mast lids and a smile to match the mischief.

“You a bit drunk there, darling?” Keith says amusedly.

“Maybe…” Lance trails, then leans over to Keith’s neck and kisses it with enough coordination to know that it's routine. Even when the ground is swaying under his feet, Lance knows a kiss and exactly where it matters. “Drunk off you and this freakin’ waistcoat…”

Keith holds onto the counter’s edge behind him by the heel of his hand; he’s too tipsy to squirm the way he usually does whenever Lance prods at the column of his neck with his tongue between warm lips. He hums. “Ever… considered how I’ve felt tonight?”

Lance doesn’t halt his ministrations. The prods and clicks continue their tingly, tip-toed path up to the soft spot behind his jaw, as if he’d never said anything at all, and his boyfriend is swimming through this moment like those waves of want couldn’t be subdued even by Keith’s voice above the water.

“Hey,” Keith says, a bit more pointedly this time. But when he still earns no response, he decides to reach his free hand up to furl his fingers through the hair at Lance’s nape and tug just enough to get those strawberry lips off him for a second.

It was probably not the best idea of coercion though, tossing buckets of sand into the ocean doesn’t make it any less hungry, especially when the grains are all soaked up and welcome in a second. Lance is just as needy with restraint on him as he was before; it’s in his waiting stare and bitten lip.

Keith does everything to narrowly avoid diving into something too dazed out and heedy for a place outside their home. But it’s so easy to tune out the muffled cacophony of voices past the kitchen walls, and the only thing that keeps him holding Lance a fair distance away from a mess just _waiting_ to happen is the promising rhythm of music outside.

“You wanna dance?” he finds himself offering, makes his gaze hover at eye level before the sight of Lance’s glossy lips turn him to stone— or putty, he’s unsure and he can’t afford to find out just yet.

That’s what reels Lance out of his stupor. “Uh— really?” he asks, because Keith just isn’t one to shuffle to the dance floor unless he’s got that familiar hand pulling him along.

 _A hand with a particular, matching band of silver around a finger that’s only a swing away from Keith’s own, but he doesn’t have that yet here, better yet_ **_know_ ** _that it’s coming._

Keith nods with a smile, and the excited laughter that spills from Lance’s mouth smells like fruit punch and a good time.

He can’t tell if the best songs happen to come on when they dance, or Lance just makes it feel that way. The world feels like something worthwhile, sheens of sweat glow under each strobe like headlights on a road trip gone wild, and one of the best parts is knowing that even with Lance’s back to his chest on the dancefloor, his boyfriend isn’t looking at anyone else when his nose is always prodding at Keith’s jaw.

And he’ll admit, he’s got no clue _how_ he can do this or _where_ this sudden swiftness comes from. Even while he’s hungover in the mornings that follow, clicking through snapchats of Shiro’s smug digs at their dancing shenanigans. Captions like _“where the hell did these moves come from?? 💀”_ are plastered over clips of his drunk ass self knowing every twist and turn so long as there’s a hand at his hip to guide him.

 _Hips_ : a huge clue to it all, it seems. It’s not so much the little shuffles or snaps from Lance’s random little jigs that get to him, but the swing that rocks the rest of his body side to side.

 _“If you don’t get that fine ass over here, McClain…”_ he remembers mumbling groggily after peering at his boyfriend through bleary eyes one morning, where Lance was leaned over with his elbows propped on the dresser, distracted by some chipper beat on his instagram feed that had him swaying along.

Lance had just about jumped out his skin since he probably hadn’t known Keith woke up. But a smirk followed, and soon enough he was tossing away the blanket and crawling over, ready to relish under the hands that roamed his bare torso and thighs.

 _“You gonna show me what those hips can do?”_ Keith had mumbled between their kisses.

_“Since you asked so nicely…”_

He knows why Lance likes it though. It’s not a game of playing dumb and figuring “it is what it is”, especially not when Lance’s hands are on him in the same way, along with other bold slides for the sake of Keith’s clumsy coordination.

There’s always a high to ride through, always a split second or hazy moment where he revels in the fact that he’s young and stupid and spending that kind of time with someone who’s gonna stick around for even longer. He’d cry if he had enough wits to do it, but this feels like a night trip to Vegas in the 2000s, and the only thing to do is party with no questions before getting their asses thrown through a mental time machine back to the present.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just dorks in love <3 keith is emotional

“I love this song!” Lance says over the music as he tugs Keith closer by the hand.

_I feel so close to you right now, it’s a force field_

The song starts at a steady pace and has Keith slinging his arms over either of his boyfriend’s shoulders, breathing out with every easy note that claps from the surrounding speakers. He feels the telltale nostalgia sweep in before even recognizing the tune, then again, all it takes is a second or two and the past becomes his sudden paradise.

_I wear my heart upon my sleeve, like a big deal_

“Didn't this play at our graduation?” he asks. Maybe it was another song, or it’d played somewhere between the clustered playlist of other throwbacks while students cheered along and reminisced. He just remembers the blaring speakers during the cap toss and whistling students when Lance grabbed him by the hip and landed an eager kiss like some epic romance movie moment. Because, of course, it’s Lance McClain and he couldn’t resolve years of pining with anything besides fireworks and a crowd to show that Keith was about to get officially Cuffed™.

Going by that little impish grin on his boyfriend’s face now, this most definitely _did_ play at graduation, or the boy is at least having a sweet time recalling such a memory.

_Your love pours down on me_

Lance nods, the fabric strip hanging off his head swaying with the movement, much like the rest of his body. “Heck yeah it did,” he says and snakes his arms tighter around Keith. He’s getting way too comfortable with the costume, all doting and smug just cause Keith’s got a set of classy clothes on with fake fangs jammed on his already pointy set of teeth. “When I kissed you with the fireworksss.”

_Surrounds me like a waterfall_

“Oh and you planned those? Just for me?”

“Obviously, who else would’ve done it?”

“Definitely not the school,” Keith says sarcastically, even when a parade of kisses started pecking away at his cheeks as he trusts his drunken lolling to keep up with their steady rhythm. “For like—“ _peck peck_ , right to his lips like Lance isn’t listening at all. “—All the students who were graduating.”

God, Lance is such a love bug when he’s drunk. Might as well have knocked some sort of potion into his drink on accident, who knows, it’s Halloween and the party is swarmed with witchy outfits both accurate and uh, _suggestive_.

“No way, I paid two moneys for that,” Lance says proudly.

_And there’s no stopping us right now_

“I’m worth two whole moneys to you?” Keith responds with a tone drenched in sweet, syrupy love at their dumb joking behavior.

_I feel so close to you right now_

“Anything for you, baby.”

It sticks with him, which is pretty odd but not exactly _rare_ when it comes to Lance in particular. Keith remembers his whopping crush on that boy since tenth grade, storing away any moment he could where the other’s flirty side would fall through and he’d do something like back Keith into the wall just for snatching his eraser, or grabbing Keith’s attention by the chin during study sessions and asking _“What’s the answer to number two?”_. How romantic.

At least past Keith thought so, enough to eventually look back with a smile the next time he was alone with a textbook and feeling the phantom touch of fingertips on his chin with that giddy crush feeling.

So he knows now that the next time they’re dancing, he’s gonna be thinking of slow strobing lights of color and _two whole moneys_ and how stupid it must be to know it means a lot more than the phrase bargains for.

Throughout the night, they swim together in the narrow space they’ve created on the makeshift dancefloor at this house party. Lance makes easy grabs at Keith’s ass for the hell of it, and even with people around them Keith is too content to really care, just like how his worries of clumsy dancing wash away when the moment falls down to the bubbly affection in his stomach.

There’s a flash at some point. It’s bright enough to stick out sore among all the vibrant lowlights and just behind the phone is Pidge standing there in the crowd with a grin. Keith doesn’t notice it for a good while as he sings all these _feel so close_ lyrics right to Lance’s mirroring lips while he dips back and holds on for dear life.

It’s so worth it though, once free time rolls around and he opens a saved snap of the recording, captioned _“this kinda cute tho 🥴”_ . _Cute_ , not exactly the first thing that came to mind when their neediness eventually got the best of them. Next thing he knows, Lance’s fingers were flying away at the array of buttons down Keith’s chest once they got home, followed by another chance of testing those damn hips.

“Okay I know it would’ve hurt but like, I’d be so into it,” Lance says the following morning, sporting a nice shower glow and nearly no traces of a hangover as they rocked along to his music in the bathroom.

Unlike that miracle, Keith feels a headache thumping at his temples, but settles for resting his head onto the other’s bare shoulder and braving through the noise one sway at a time.

“I’m not biting you with that shit, Lance,” he mumbles, swears to himself this man is so fuckin’ weird but really— is he any less weird himself?

“Babyyyy.” Lance pouts into the mirror just for Keith to see over his shoulder, but he holds on to the arms around him and if anything, presses back even closer than before.

It’s pretty convincing— well, hypothetically, it is. The image of Lance’s neck bared for the sake being used to the point of hazy bliss, and all the sounds that’d come with it. He’s into biting, that’s for sure when the reflection showcases splotches blooming in his skin from open invitation at possessive tendencies.

But alas, Keith doesn’t drink _blood_ , and he’s not sticking his fake fangs into his boyfriend’s neck like a pair of thumbtacks just because this doofus thinks he’ll be more than fine.

“I’m not like, being _that_ serious but at least pretend you’re listening,” Lance continues, and Keith can’t help bowing his head with an amused smile.

The slow music does some service to waking him up, Lance’s warm and cozy body— not so much since it’s just as good as the bed covers in Lance’s room. Pretty much _their_ room by now, although Keith’s is down the hall, there’s a good chance of eventually moving into a bigger arrangement. Official. Just… engaged, or something.

_(Spoiler alert: it does, in fact, eventually happen.)_

“I am listening,” he responds nonchalantly, as casual as poking his tongue at one of Lance’s hickeys and making the boy squirm.

“You’re terrible!” Lance shrieks as he flails away and plasters his palm against the offended area, like the dark patch had flared in retaliation like some sort of mood ring effect.

Keith takes this kind of stuff with a grain of salt now, though. If anything, he’s more than sure the other wears those marks with hidden pride since he pays no mind to covering up— well, unless around family… But Keith recalls countless occasions of ring-collared shirts and Lance subconsciously pressing the pads of his fingers against his skin in an almost comforting manner. His own take at reviving a memory, even when it means the two of them have to play dumb and oblivious during outtings when those marks peek through. It’s intimate, even a habit without all the heat behind it.

“Am not,” he responds in kind, and slings Lance’s hand into his own with a gentle pull by the wrist.

It takes a couple seconds before the boy catches on, lacing their fingers together and carding his other hand through Keith’s sweaty bangs with an eye roll. “Are too,” he says, yet it’s too soft and compliant to even taste a pinch of salt in his tone, it’s what happens when Keith lulls him into a slow dance. “And you better get your handsome butt in the shower.” Lance swoops his combing fingers down just to pinch Keith’s behind with a smug grin.

“Don’t wanna,” Keith says, because even the cold tiled floor underneath his bare feet feels more comfortable than a shower without their easy sways.

His boyfriend huffs, and he feels the choke of it in the jolt of the man’s shoulders, where his head rests comfortably against. “You’re an idiot.”

But Keith understands now, how just a simple dance casts a rose colored tint on the world and makes the rough edges of words melt into smoothed out butter. How he’ll keep being an idiot if it means this embrace lasts a little longer, and Lance can cradle them like a rocking boat among quiet currents. How the thumping of heavy speakers, or a clear tune from a phone, or humble scratches from a radio can be so quick to make an unlikely pair, well, _likely_ , if it means _“May I have this dance?”_ soon follows— or anything of the sort.

“I love you,” he says, with his nose carefully rested under the edge of the tender part of Lance’s neck. _I love you I love you I love you_ , he almost feels like if he’d said it again it would come out in a whimper, since the rest of his wits have made his limbs turn wobbly from this sudden wave of emotion. 

He’s said it before, but not like this. He says it when they’re shamelessly cuddled on the couch and a skip away from slumber, or parroting Lance’s rushed goodbyes after one last peck, or in a hot breath between them with no expectation for hearing it in return because it shows in the dazed hang of Lance’s lips below him, and eyes so focused and blue he may as well have thought it enough to somehow say it with single stare. 

But it’s never felt as relevant when the world around them has already seemed to stop. He’s always heard those _I love you_ ’s in only their songs, and has apparently expected nothing more when it just didn’t seem necessary.

Until now.

And years later, when the silver-ringed fate he’d felt that day eventually came around and turned a slow dance during a hangover into one at a warmly lit venue near the beach, with perhaps a little wine buzz to accompany it.

It’s a parallel now to that of before, except this time Lance’s neck is rather smeared wet from tears Keith just can’t help, and no purple-blue hickey to tempt his playful prods. Not like he can do it anyway— he’s emotional now, alright?

“I love you.” A mimicry, a reminder, something in between, perhaps, and it does come through a whimper this time.

Because he realizes it now. Unlike his fleeting suspicions of eventually sharing a bedroom or even a _life_ together, unlike all those vague instincts he had of engagement when swept across the floor through twirls and dips from Lance’s untamed happiness. He realizes now that all those moments had only been proving his suspicion that dance —of literally _all things_ — could’ve become his love language too overtime, regardless of all un-intentions in doing so.

That ended up being right.

As their song glides through the warm, content air of the venue above clinking glasses of fizzing champagne and unbidden coos from onlookers, Keith feels that telltale weak swell in his heart. Their hands are linked, another grounded against the small of his back, and he holds onto Lance’s shoulder with every ounce of trust in avoiding any embarrassment of tripping on their wedding day.

He feels the hand against his back smooth up soothingly, and naturally it coaxes Keith out from where he’d nuzzled himself before just to look at his fiancé’s— _husband’s_ kind and knowing eyes that accompany a tilted smile.

“I love you too,” Lance says amusedly, and to Keith, the man who’d tucked himself away to avoid any and every dance floor in his life until this idiot came along, it almost feels like an _“I told you so”_.

He kisses him anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment/kudos if you enjoyed <3
> 
> Read works & get updates in advance on [my instagram](https://www.instagram.com/arcadevia/). This fic was also under the [#feelsocloseklance](https://www.instagram.com/explore/tags/feelsocloseklancd/) tag.


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